


a great Thanksgiving, coming early in the morn

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Jackson Whittemore, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Double Anal Penetration, Double Penetration, Established Relationship, FBI Agent Stiles Stilinski, Face-Fucking, Future Fic, Jackson Has a Tail, M/M, Marking, Minor Natalie Martin/Sheriff Stilinski, Minor Scott McCall/Malia Tate, Multi, Polyamory, Prehensile Tail, Scent Kink, Thanksgiving, Xenophilia, derek is a wolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 13:05:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16744549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: Stiles has everything planned out to the second so that he can host the first Thanksgiving in his, Derek's, and Jackson's house. No one else pays attention to the schedule.





	a great Thanksgiving, coming early in the morn

**Author's Note:**

> Because I haven't written fic in FOREVER and I wanted to write a PWP with feelings and laughter, and because I felt like writing a holiday fic for Thanksgiving of all things. I mean, honestly, the winter holidays and Valentine's Day get all the fics, and poor Thanksgiving is always left out! Anyway, this could almost be canonically futuristic, if Jackson were to end up with Derek and Stiles instead of Ethan. And really, I just had to use his tail. And Derek's wolf. So um, minor xeno and all. If God reads my fic, yes, I am going to hell. I'm aware.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy.

It’s going to be a great Thanksgiving.

Stiles has everything planned down to the second for his first time hosting in the house he shares with Derek and Jackson. The cranberry sauce was made two days ago, and Derek made dough for rolls and left it to rise in the fridge overnight. There’s a vegetable casserole waiting to be put in the oven, along with a cornbread, butternut squash, and sausage dressing. Jackson’s in charge of roasted fresh vegetables and a salad, and Lydia and her mother promised to bring pies from some incredible bakery just outside of Boston.

Stiles got up early to get the turkey out of the brine and into the oven, and go for a run before the McCall/Martin/Stilinski contingent arrive just before lunch. They flew into Boston two days ago to pick up Scott, Lydia, and Malia, and drove halfway to Virginia last night. They’ll be cutting it close, but they’ll also stay until Sunday morning, so there will be plenty of family time after the meal.

Stiles has a chart on the fridge of when everything has to be done, right down to when plates go on the table, and the appetizer plates come out. And yes, he scheduled in time for a run. Keeping in shape for the FBI allows for rest days, but he knows tomorrow will be a lazy morning, with all three of them off work and a house full of guests. He needs to get a solid workout in today.

It was just above freezing when he left the house, running along the streets of their neighborhood. His breath still puffs out into little clouds after the first five miles, but sweat now drips under his hoodie, and he’s pretty sure his skin is rank with post-workout stench. The sun is high, though, burning off the clouds, and the air is starting to warm slightly. It’s going to be a cold day, but the run keeps him warm as he pushes through the remaining five miles of his run.

There are three cars at his house when he gets there: Derek’s SUV, Jackson’s Camaro, and Stiles’s trusty Jeep. He touches the Jeep on his way by, then skims his fingers over the hood of the Camaro. It’s still new, and he remembers when Jackson picked it up, muttering, “Well, if you won’t,” to Derek as he signed for it.

Jackson has a funny way of saying _I love you_ , but he says it all the time if you know how to listen.

The door is still unlocked the way he left it not all that long ago; Stiles twists the doorknob and opens it carefully, trying to be quiet in case Derek and Jackson are still sleeping. He barely gets it closed behind himself when a black wolf bounds down the stairs, sliding across the floor for a moment before it leaps at Stiles, pinning him against the door with heavy paws on his thighs.

Derek shoves his muzzle into Stiles’s crotch, inhaling loudly.

“Fuck,” Stiles mutters, gripping Derek’s ruff, twisting it to hold on. “That’s a hell of a greeting.”

“We were just waiting for you.” Jackson walks down the stairs at a slower pace, sleep pants hanging low from sharp hip bones, tail twitching behind him. He grins sharply, and Stiles’s dick twitches.

Derek huffs and nuzzles closer, nipping at his sweats, pulling them down with his teeth.

“You know we like it when you run in the morning,” Jackson says softly.

Stiles can’t answer, breath stolen in a rough gasp as Derek manages to get his sweats down. Stiles is still wearing his boxer briefs, but his dick strains against the wet, stretchy fabric. Derek presses his snout into the crease of Stiles’s groin, licking at the sweat.

“Fuck,” Stiles groans, gripping Derek’s fur tightly.

“That’s the idea.” Jackson comes in close, unzips Stiles’s hoodie and pushes it open. “Let go, I want you naked.”

Stiles flexes his fingers, lets Jackson manhandle him out of his hoodie and shirt. When Jackson kneels to get his shoes off, Derek distracts Stiles by shoving his nose inside his underwear to push it down so he can lick along the length of his cock.

“Jesus,” Stiles exhales. He tries to help by getting his underwear all the way off, but Derek’s paws on his thighs push him back and he can’t think through the feeling of the heavy tongue dragging across his skin. “Do you want me to come on your fur, Derek? Fuck, let me at least get undressed.”

Derek is abruptly human, naked and crouched at Stiles’s feet, fingers curled around the meat of his thighs. “Want you to come on my cock,” he growls, then sucks Stiles’s cock into his mouth.

“That’s not—fuck….” Stiles can’t think, can’t make words. “Derek. Gonna come if you keep that up.”

“Don’t.” Jackson rises, presses in close. There’s a soft click of the cap from the lubricant, then Jackson drops one hand, sliding between Stiles’s cheeks, slick finger pressing into him. “Don’t come, Stiles,” Jackson orders softly, leaning in to lick the sweat from his skin. “Not until we say so.”

Stiles whimpers, because fuck, that’s going to be nearly impossible. Derek sucks him like he’s trying to get Stiles’s soul out through his dick. Stiles rocks his hips, grips Derek’s hair as he fucks into his mouth. “Please,” he whimpers, and Jackson presses his finger deeper into him. Stiles shifts his stance, offers more room for Jackson to work.

“Do you want us to fuck you?” Jackson murmurs, nipping at Stiles’s throat. He sucks, and Stiles knows there’s going to be a dark mark there, just below his collar line. It feels good, and Stiles whines with the need to come.

“Yes,” Stiles groans. “Please. Now. One dick, two dicks, whatever you guys want.”

Jackson grins. “Noted.”

Derek pulls back, his lips red and mouth raw. “Ride me,” he orders, and Stiles follows him down to the floor.

Derek lies back, his knees slightly bent to give Stiles a place to lean back as he impales himself on Derek’s thick cock. It slides in as familiar as a lock and key, and Derek grips his hips, holding him in place as he fucks up into Stiles.

It stretches and burns, Derek’s cock thick and hung like a fucking alpha wolf. Stiles pants, trying to relax, to accommodate. His dick softens slightly, and Derek slows his pace, rocking into him deeply.

Stiles closes his eyes, inhales and exhales. “Fuck. You feel so good.”

“So tight,” Derek mutters, fingers bruisingly tight against Stiles’s skin. “You fit me so perfectly. Made to take my cock. Made for me to fuck you.”

“And these lips. This mouth,” Jackson murmurs. He runs his finger over Stiles’s lips, and Stiles opens his eyes to find Jackson pressing his cock forward. Stiles opens his mouth, lets Jackson press in. He relaxes, swallows as he takes Jackson’s slow fuck of his mouth. “You are so fucking good for us,” Jackson praises him.

Stiles can’t answer, his eyes watering as Jackson’s cock presses into his throat over and over, his body overwhelmed by the slow roll of Derek’s hips. His own dick thickens slowly, and he aches to touch himself, but he needs to keep his hands on Jackson’s thighs, making sure that Jackson doesn’t choke him accidentally.

Something slides between his cheeks, through the slick mess Jackson left behind while prepping him. Stiles spreads his knees as he realizes that it’s Jackson’s tail, pressing just the tip inside of him, stretching him around Derek’s cock even further. He whimpers at the sensation, rocks his hips, tries to take both the tail and Derek deeper.

“Please,” he tries to beg around Jackson’s cock. “Please.”

Strong fingers wrap around Stiles’s dick, wet and slick and tight. “Come,” Derek growls, and it only takes two strokes and Stiles is spurting all over Derek’s chest, the orgasm rung out of him with every stroke.

Derek lets go before the aftershocks fade, grabbing Stiles’s hips and pushing deeply into him as he comes with a groan. Jackson cups Stiles’s head, and Stiles swallows as Jackson comes in his mouth, then withdraws to finish himself off across Stiles’s chest.

Derek growls, pushes himself to sitting so he can lick at Stiles’s skin, swiping up sweat and come with every stroke. He sucks another mark into Stiles’s pale skin, right next to the one Jackson left.

Stiles is wrung out, collapsing forward against Derek’s chest. “You know, I already had a workout today,” he mutters, patting Derek’s chest.

“You needed a shower anyway.” Jackson crouches in front of Stiles, cradling his face as he kisses him slowly. His tail slips out of Stiles, and Jackson swallows Stiles’s whimper. “You stink,” Jackson murmurs.

“I think you guys killed me.” Stiles is exhausted, his legs shaking. He’s not sure he trusts himself to stand up and get up the stairs safely. “I don’t have werewolf stamina. Or whatever you are stamina.” He lightly swats Jackson at the last.

“He’s a werewolf,” Derek says. He reaches up to pull Stiles closer, kissing him and lingering over the taste as his dick softens and slips out of Stiles.

“With a few extras.” Jackson whips his tail around, uses it to pick up his abandoned sleep pants. He’s halfway to pulling them on when he goes still, looks at the window. “Not possible.”

“Shit.” Derek rolls to his feet, spilling Stiles from his lap as he lands in a crouch.

Stiles can’t hear what they hear, but he’s got a good idea what it might be. “It’s too early.”

“Apparently not.” Jackson grabs Stiles’s sweats with his tail, tosses them at him, followed by his shirt.

Derek grabs the sweats from Stiles’s hands, pulls them on while Stiles pulls up his underwear and uses his shirt to clean the worst of the mess from his and Derek’s chests. He’s pretty sure there are still spots on the floor that need to be cleaned.

The doorbell rings, and Stiles flinches.

Jackson holds up a hand to silently tell them to stay still. He runs his fingers through his hair until he looks like he just got up, rather than just fucked. Stiles can hear voices on the other side of the door, even though he can’t hear what they’re saying. Jackson’s the most presentable of the three of them, and he pulls the door open slightly, keeping Derek and Stiles out of view.

“…I can smell it from out here,” Malia says. There’s a small pause before Scott makes a pained sound, and Malia adds. “Did you have sex in the hall? It smells like sex. Or maybe you just do it down here often enough that it’s soaked into the woodwork.”

“No, that’s fresh,” Scott says, choked. “Maybe we should come back.”

“How are you even here this early?” Stiles asks, knowing that Scott and Malia will hear him, even if the others don’t. He’s not going over there. His shirt is stuck to his chest, and he’s pretty sure that Jackson got come in his hair. And his Dad, foster mom, and step mom are on the other side of that door.

This is horrifyingly awkward, and not part of his meticulously timed plan.

“Got on the road early, son,” Dad calls out. “Figured we’d surprise you.”

“Oh, I’d say they’re surprised,” Lydia says dryly. “Here, take these and put them in a fridge somewhere. We are leaving now, and we will go get breakfast and be back in an hour. Go shower.”

“Wash the floors!” Malia yells, her voice more distant like she’s being dragged away. “Maybe—”

Jackson closes the door before she can finish, and stands there with four pie boxes stacked in his hands.

“You have—” Derek washes something off of Stiles’s cheek with his thumb.

“That was not how this is supposed to go,” Stiles whines. “It’s early. No one gets on the road this early. It’s still morning.”

And oh my god, if they’d been just a few minutes earlier, they would’ve gotten here while Stiles was still in the middle of… no. He’s not going to think that. Not at all.

Jackson takes the pies back to the kitchen. Derek rises to his feet, reaches out to pull Stiles along with him. He draws Stiles in close, wraps his arms around him, hands sliding into the back of his underwear. He reaches down, gently circles Stiles’s hole.

His dick twitches, valiantly trying to rise.

Derek smirks. “Lydia said we have an hour,” he says, tone low. “And I’m thinking it only takes twenty minutes to shower and dress.”

Jackson comes back, heading straight for the stairs. “It takes a lot longer for a tongue bath,” he muses. “Derek, mind taking care of the floor while I start getting Stiles cleaned up?”

Both of Derek’s eyebrows rise. “I’m going to fuck you when I get upstairs, so get yourself ready,” he counters. He swats Stiles, nudges him to the stairs. “Go on up. Let’s make good use of the time we have while they’re distracted.”

It’s still going to smell like sex when they get back, no matter how well Derek cleans, and no matter how many candles he lights to cover the scent. And none of this was on Stiles’s schedule for the day.

But the turkey’s in the oven, and they don’t need to start cooking anything else for at least an hour, and Lydia will make sure that they’ve got plenty of time before their family is back.

“Let’s go,” he says, passing Jackson on the way up the stairs. He starts to run, and Jackson laughs as he chases him to the bedroom.

As Stiles leaps onto the bed, and Jackson pounces, he knows he was right. It’s going to be a great Thanksgiving. And it couldn’t have started in a more perfect way.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm barely [on Tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com) these days. If you like my fic, you might like my original serial, [Welcome to PHU](http://welcometophu.tumblr.com), with magic, shapeshifters, college, and plenty of queer characters.


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